


Midnight

by devovitsuasartes



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, Oliver pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-02-11 06:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12929373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devovitsuasartes/pseuds/devovitsuasartes
Summary: Elio and Oliver's first time, from Oliver's perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m nervous.”

He said it plainly, matter-of-factly, with just the ghost of self-consciousness. He wasn’t hiding any more. All our cards were on the table. I touched his fingers. He leaned against me. His skin looked bluish in the moonlight.

I wasn’t nervous - at least, not in the same way he was. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so calm - before or since. I didn’t fear rejection, or humiliation. My only fear was of doing something wrong, something to ruin this, or to hurt him. I didn’t want to be a story that Elio told his therapist years down the line. I wanted to make this a good memory for him.

“Does this make you happy?” I asked him, later, hearing the low tone of anxiety in my own voice as I looked down at where his toes were sandwiched between mine. He nodded jerkily, but firmly.

I’d seen most of him already - with all the time we spent swimming and sunbathing, I’d probably seen him with his shirt off more often than I’d seen him with it on. I’d seen the outline of him through his wet, clinging swimsuit. He had no secrets from me. We pulled his shirt off together, then mine, and I took off my shorts and underwear in one impatient flourish and laid down on him, my bare skin on his at last.

His body - so elegant and self-assured on bicycles and in water and at the piano - was awkward and clumsy here in bed. I knew what that probably meant, but I didn’t let myself think of the word. It didn’t matter.

Elio wasn't sure what to do with his legs, so I took hold of them firmly, just like I had when he’d gotten the nosebleed, and tidied them away onto my shoulders. I leaned forward, testing the stretch, and he winced a little as I lowered myself to kiss him, pushing his knees up close to his ears. He was flexible, then, but only to a point. I made a note of it and rearranged our bodies so that his knees gripped my ribcage instead. He rested his heels on the small of my back, making a pleased sound as the new position let him pull me closer.

I pushed in, slowly, and at the first stretch his face contorted with discomfort. He tried to hide it, I could tell, and I wanted to beg him, _Don’t lie to me, you don’t need to do that_. But instead I just waited and let him adjust. Let him clench and flex experimentally around me while I kissed his hairless chest and stroked a hand down his soft, flat belly to take hold of him at last. He sucked in a sharp breath. Even without looking, I could feel the place where he was cut, like me. He shifted, and the silver star on his collarbone caught the moonlight, shining boldly.

Hard thrusts made him jump and tense, so I fucked him with slow undulations of my hips instead, not really moving my fist, just pushing him into it. The night heat was sticky and soon his hair was plastered to his forehead and mussed from the pillow. He gripped my shoulders, touched my back and my thighs and my buttocks. He moaned, “Fuck,” and it thrilled me, so I said it back to him, and soon we were passing it back and forth.

It took us both by surprise when he came. I hadn’t even thought about trying to push him over the edge. I’d been enjoying myself too much. But in the middle of cursing he suddenly tensed, and gasped, and exclaimed, “Oh!” Then lower, “Oh fuck, Oliver!” I touched his belly again, and found it slick and warm. Before I could spare an unselfish thought, I shoved into him hard and stayed there, spilling deep, burying it like a secret.

The intensity of it left me shaking. I pressed my forehead against his and panted into his mouth. I kissed him, languid and loose. I didn’t pull out. Being honest, I was overwhelmed. It had been a long time since the stakes had been this high. I felt like it was my first time all over again - sixteen and terrified of being found out. I dropped my face to Elio’s long, pale neck to hide my expression from him, and he folded his arms around me, stroking my shoulder blades.

“You OK?” he asked, softly.

I huffed a tired laugh, and twitched where I was still inside him. “Me OK,” I whispered back.

I grew concerned that I might be crushing him, and I rolled my upper torso off him, our legs still entangled. I looked at him in fascination. His skin was flushed and he looked extremely pleased with himself. He was achingly lovely. Elio.

I loved his name. I loved to hear his parents and Mafalda call for him through the old echoey house. _Elio. Elio. Elio._

I was overcome by a sudden, urgent desire to hear him say his own name aloud. I wanted to hear him say it while we made love. The thought was intensely arousing to me. I looked deep into his eyes. “Call me by your name,” I requested. “And I’ll call you by mine.”

His brow furrowed minutely in confusion, then unfolded in understanding. “Elio,” he murmured, and the sound went straight to my groin. I stifled a moan.

“Oliver,” I breathed. Saying my own name like that felt lewd and masturbatory.

“Elio,” he said again, more confidently, his thigh flexing against mine, his cock stirring weakly.

“Oliver.”

“Elio.”

And we were away again.


	2. Chapter 2

We took it slower, the second time, and I allowed myself to be more passive. I was still a little exhausted. I lay on my back and we kissed lazily, Elio on top of me, those clever fingers buried in my hair. He kissed my jaw and my cheeks and my closed eyelids with a kind of desperate impatience, and then he slowed down a little, brushing the strands of hair carefully back from my temple.

"You have a scar here," he observed. I took it for the question that it was.

"I got it when I was out drinking, as an undergraduate," I told him. "Someone dared me to jump from one wall to another. They bet I couldn't do it."

"And?"

"They were right."

He laughed softly, and kissed the white mark, and then petted the hair back down over it. I sighed appreciatively as he trailed his lips down my neck and over my collarbone. They were full and hot, not chapped and cold like lips get back home. Everywhere they touched my skin set the nerves alight. He kissed down, down, and when he reached my chest his intent became clear and my breath quickened in anticipation.

I looked down. I couldn't really see his face - just his mop of silky, dark hair, which I sank my fingers into, burying their tanned skin and hairy knuckles. He laved his tongue over my nipple and I smiled. They weren't very sensitive, but I liked that he liked them. I liked to see him drag his nose through the forest of my chest hair like he was sampling the bouquet of a fine wine.

He reached my hip, and the fading mark there. "I know about this one," he said, mock-dismissively, and carried on, biting my hip bone teasingly and then grasping my cock. He was more confident now that he had been fucked, squeezing me a little and drawing a soft moan from my throat.

"Now this one," he murmured, touching his thumb to my circumcision scar. "This looks familiar." He touched his tongue to it.

"Elio!" I whispered, tightening my fingers in his hair. But he retreated, even taking his hand off me, and looked up sternly.

"Don't you mean, 'Oliver?'"

I was beyond amusement now. I simply nodded and whispered, scandalously, my own name. "Oliver. Oliver."

He groaned, almost inaudibly. "Elio," he returned, breathing his name directly onto my cock, and furnishing it with a kiss. 

He didn't suck me, though. Not yet. He took me in his full fist and looked at me critically, then down at himself, then up at my face. He was grinning impishly.

"I think I'm bigger than you."

Coming from anyone else, it would have been an incredibly rude thing to say in such an intimate moment. But I found his boyish glee charming, and I smiled back at him. "You sound surprised."

"It's not what I imagined."

"Oh? You imagined?"

His cheeks pinked a little, but then he stuck his chin out defiantly, resting it on my lower stomach. "You know I did."

I nodded. All those long nights, his room next to mine, I had known what he was doing in it. All those times I had caught glimpses of him from the bathroom door, lying in bed bare-chested and feigning sleep, the skin of his stomach trembling with how fast his heart was beating. Making a request of me with his body that he didn't know how to make with words.

My fingers were still resting in his hair. I pulled them free so that I could stroke his cheek, and he turned his head and caught them in his mouth playfully. His tongue touched the sensitive pads of my fingers and I rumbled a low moan, and the words came unbidden.

"Your mouth, Oliver. Oliver, _please_."

"El-ee-o," he returned, slowly, and then his mouth was on me fully and my head was back against the pillow and my eyes were closed. There was nothing like this, nothing. The vagina, the ass - both were wonderful to fuck in their own way, but there was nothing like the focused attentiveness of a blow job: the firm suction and cleverly wriggling tongue, the occasional scrape of teeth and the cushion of the soft palate and, sometimes, the textured tightness of the throat. He was inexperienced, but not unenthusiastic, and his mouth was hot and wet and pulling at me and I was saying my own name in stilted, shaky whispers.

Then he went too deep, and gagged, and pulled back in alarm. I grabbed his cheeks and pulled him up to kiss me on the mouth so that I could lick my own pre-ejaculate off his tongue and I told him, mouth to mouth, "I want to come on you. Can I come on you? Would you like that, Oliver?"

He nodded vigorously and rolled onto his back and I straddled his hips, cock in hand, and looked down at him - getting a good look at him at last. He was panting, his eyes wide, looking from my face to my cock and back again, arching his back to create a better canvas. I was close, close.

"Elio," he whispered dazedly, and I gasped and dropped forward onto one hand and squeezed my eyes tight shut and came on him in bursts and dribbles, the sensations wracking my body and making me shudder. Before I was even done I was smearing the mess with the palm of my hand, spreading it across his torso.

It was everything I had wanted, for so long. It had been weeks of looking at him only when he was looking away, and feeling his eyes on me as he did the same with just as little discretion. Weeks of wanting and not having, even though I knew I could have it all, even after he'd kissed me hungrily and put his hand boldly on my crotch and asked, mockingly, "Am I offending you?" And oh, oh, I had been so afraid of hurting him. So afraid of ruining him. So afraid of taking something pure and making it filthy. I'd told him I wanted to be good, and I'd meant it, but what I'd really meant is that I'd wanted _this_ to be good - to be a good thing. For him. For me. _Elio. Oliver. Elio. Oliver._

I emerged from this train of thought and found myself lying on him, his cock a hard line against my stomach, his hips twitching upwards with impatience. I was panting wetly in his ear, ruffling his hair. His fingers wriggled against the damp seam where our bodies connected, trying to reach his cock.

"Off, off," he demanded rudely, and I rolled over limply onto my back. He straddled me as I had done him, and tugged at my hand. "Put your fingers in me," he insisted, and when I didn't respond immediately he snapped, "Elio!" - a call to action.

He spat into his palm as I pressed my fingers inside him. He was still loose and wet with my come from earlier, and as I started to fuck him haphazardly with my hand his head dropped forward, hair hanging limply, tugging his cock and grimacing. The second orgasm always a tougher one to crack. But we cracked it, together, and he came on me, tightening around my fingers, hunching his back and wheezing, hot splashes on my stomach as I soothed, _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver_.

He couldn't move after that. He lay sprawled on the bed in a torpor, spattered with fluid and drenched with sweat, until I handed him my shirt to clean himself off.

"Did we make noise?" he wondered aloud.

"Nothing to worry about," I reassured him. I actually had no idea if we'd made noise or not, but I knew that I did not care.

He curled against my side, afterwards, and fell asleep almost immediately. His skin was sticky with our come, but I didn't mind. I stared up at the ceiling - his ceiling - our ceiling. I knew it well. I knew the posters on his walls, the books on his shelves. I knew which floorboards creaked when you stepped on them.

_Shall I show you to your room? My room? Our room?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since people seem to be enjoying Oliver's perspective, I thought I'd add one more scene - this time from their trip to Bergamo.

We were both laughing so hard that we were doubled over, our stomach muscles aching, tears in our eyes. Elio collapsed against me and we both tumbled onto the bed, still laughing - the initial humor at the amusing encounter compounded by the sheer joy we both felt at being here, at last, alone, together. Away from Elio's parents - as much as I loved them both, and as kind and understanding as they were. Here it was just us. Elio and Oliver. Oliver and Elio.

Happiness turned quickly to desire and I squeezed his thigh, kissed his neck, listened to his laughter smooth out into long pulls of breath. I rubbed my stubbly chin over his pale, sensitive skin until it turned red, then bit and sucked on it lovingly - not long enough to bruise, but enough to make him buck and whine.

"Elio," he whispered, tentatively, like he was saying something very dirty.

I ended up on my back, trembling with anticipation, my fingers inside him, pushing lubricant inside him while he hung over me and moaned luxuriantly, his eyes closed. When I was satisfied that he was relaxed I tried to roll us over, but he resisted, pushing down firmly on my shoulders.

"Like this," he said firmly. "Like this."

Oh god - yes, _yes_.

I nodded eagerly, then reached down and gripped the base of my cock, made it stand up firmly. He reached back, pressing a hand onto one of his buttocks to spread himself, and then lowered himself, his hot entrance touching my crown.

I wanted to look down and watch it happen, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from his face. He closed his eyes and grimaced a little as he started to sink down, making "ah, ah, ah," noises like he had taken a sip of coffee while it was too hot. I touched his cheek and he turned his head to kiss my palm. I held him steady as he engulfed me, making me gasp, and at that sound he finally opened his eyes. I don't know what he saw on my face, but it forced a helpless noise from his throat and he gritted his teeth and dropped the rest of the way, finally seated on my hips.

"Oliver," I breathed - touching his throat, his collarbone, folding his Star of David over in my fingers, gripping his slender shoulders.

"What does it feel like?" he asked, frowning a little, curious.

God, how to describe it? "It's - _ah_. It's tight. Very tight, at the... the entrance. Then soft, and hot, inside."

"Does it feel good?"

I laughed, my still-sore stomach muscles aching with it. "What do you think?"

"I want to hear," he insisted, a little petulantly.

I propped myself up on my elbows, smiling, and he leaned down to kiss me. "It feels amazing," I murmured against his mouth. "There's nothing else like it. Nothing in the world."

He moaned, and shoved me back down, and started learning how to ride me. It was stilted and awkward at first - he was trying to lift himself and lower himself, trying to do what he thought would feel good for me, not paying attention to his own pleasure. I decided to intervene, and took hold of his hips.

"Roll them, like this," I said, guiding him through the motions, slowly. "Do what feels good. That'll feel good for me, too."

He licked his lips and nodded, and like a parent teaching a child to ride a bike, I let him go, let the momentum carry him onwards, and he soon found a rhythm and angle that he liked. He rocked back and forth, his hands braced on my chest, grinding down onto me, his head thrown back, careless of my pleasure - only chasing his own.

"Oh fuck," he gasped, sounding almost surprised. "Oh fuck, this feels good!"

"Don't stop," I begged quietly. "Don't stop. Keep going. _God_."

"Elio," he whined, touching his cock lightly, like he was scared he would go off if he made too much contact. He opened his eyes at last, looked down at me, and asked, "Have you done this?"

I nodded messily. "Yes. Yes, I've done this."

"Can you do this to me, next time?"

It took me a moment to realize what he was asking - that he thought of this as _him_ fucking _me_ , even though I was inside him, and I couldn't disagree. And then I realized that his question meant that he wanted to fuck me, and I nearly came on the spot, but I pulled it together and said, "Yes, yes, next time, next time I'll do this to you. Come here, come here."

He obliged, a little reluctantly, bending forward. I gripped the back of his neck with one hand, forcibly held his hips still with the other (my thumb resting inside his pelvis, my fingers curving all the way round his buttock - _god_ , he was so slender) and then planted my feet on the bed and started fucking him rapidly, brutally, as fast as I could. He gasped, as though scandalized, and buried his hands in my hair and said, over and over, "Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck!_ "

"Is it good?" I begged, craving nothing more than to feel what he was feeling, to feel what he felt as my cock pierced his body, over and over. " _Oliver._ "

"You're gonna get me off," he panted, by way of reply. "In about three seconds."

"I want to see your face when it happens. Let me see your face."

He was a little reluctant, embarrassed, so I forcibly lifted his head away from my shoulder, ran my hand up his neck and buried it in his hair, gripping, holding him. He was bright red, sweating, on the very precipice of ecstasy, his eyes pinched shut.

"Look at me," I pleaded. "Open your eyes. Keep them open, as long as you can."

He obeyed, and the intensity of gazing into each other's eyes while we fucked made us both groan.

"Oh," Elio said, his eyes fluttering closed again against his will, his expression tightening. "Oh - fuck - it's - I'm - now, _now_..."

I sped up, fucking him as hard and as fast as I could, bullying the orgasm out of him. "Go on," I said, my voice raw and fierce. "I want to watch you come."

And I did. I saw his face screw up, heard his breath stutter and stop, felt his asshole flutter and clench around me, felt the hot bursts of semen landing on my stomach and sliding down the curve of my side, could even smell it - that unmistakable chlorine smell of come. His fingers gripped my shoulders tightly and his voice returned as he started to shudder into the aftermath.

"Ohhh shit," he moaned, slowly opening his eyes. "Are you close? I'm sore, but I... I want to watch you..."

"Watch me," I echoed, still holding his hair, feeling a little naked under his gaze - the clear, sober gaze of the recently relieved. I lifted him almost completely off of me, fucking just into that tight little channel at his entrance, and as I started to come I punched in deep again, feeling a small wave of regret as he flinched in pain, but unable to control that primal instinct to bury it deep, to impregnate. I forced myself to keep my eyes open, let him see it all happen on my face. He looked fascinated, and deeply touched, like I had given him a priceless gift.

It wound down. He pulled himself up and off me, gingerly, with a groan of relief once he was free. He lay down on my damp chest, and I took his body weight easily, caressing the sweat-slick bumps of his spine, feeling the slightness of his waist.

"We're really good together," he said, trying to keep his tone light and conversational, but unable to eliminate the strains of anxiety and sadness. We would soon be separated. We both knew it. There was nothing that could be done. This would all be over soon, probably for good. I would go back to America, to my real life, to the inevitability of marriage to someone else, someone whom I could bring home to my parents. And Elio - _Elio, Elio, Elio_ \- he would stay here for the summer, then finish school, then go to college and be talented and brilliant and admired. He was a wonderful lover. He would have many flings, with many other people, and bring them ecstasy, and in time his memories of me - of us - would fade.

All of a sudden I felt a tear spill over and slide down my cheek. I held him tightly, as though by doing so I could stop time and keep him here forever. Our chests were pressed so hard together that I could feel his still-rapid heartbeat, an echo of my own. _Elio-Oliver, Elio-Oliver, Elio-Oliver_.

"What are you thinking about?" he murmured. Perhaps he had felt my tears on his skin.

I kissed his cheek, smiled. "It's private."


	4. Chapter 4

Elio was a lovely drunk. He clung to me like a limpet all the way back to the hotel, and leaned on me as I helped him up the stairs, making nonsensical murmuring noises. I was none too steady myself, and ended up wheezing with laughter as I tried and failed to get our door open. "Let me," Elio slurred, but I replied, "No no no, I have to do this myself" in a faux-serious voice, then started laughing again, then finally managed to unlock the door so that we could both stumble inside.

He was on me as soon as I closed the door, wrapping his arms around the back of my neck and kissing my face, my cheeks, my jaw - trying to climb up my body. His hands were cold but his torso was hot where it pressed against mine, and it was wonderful to be kissed while drunk, to feel the looseness of his limbs and the desperation of his body.

He backed off suddenly, his hand fisted in my shirt, and walked backwards, jerking me along with him. The backs of his legs hit the bed and he fell back onto it, and I fell on top of him and accidentally elbowed him in the face and said in a rush, "Oh sorry, sorry, sorry!" and kissed it better.

But Elio didn't even appear to have felt it. He was tugging at my shirt, trying to drag it over my head, and eventually I gave in and helped him. As soon as my chest was bare he pressed his open mouth against it, tasting my sweaty chest hair and moaning faintly. He was half-hard, the lump of his cock pressed against my stomach, and a stray thought occurred to me and I asked him, clumsily, "Did you mean it? When you asked... do you want to try it...?"

"What, what?" he interrupted softly, distracted, curving his body inwards to fumble with the button of my trousers.

"You... inside me... do you want to, would you like that, Elio?"

I had only done it that way once before, but quite suddenly I knew that I needed to experience it with him. I would be leaving tomorrow. This was my last chance to know what it felt like to have him inside me. I wanted him to come inside me so that when I left there would still be a part of him with me, a trace left inside, so that even months later I could imagine that it was still there - his DNA, the essence of who he was.

But his brow was still furrowed, he didn't understand, and so I grabbed his hair and kissed him and sighed, "Fuck me, Elio. Please fuck me. Please."

"Oh my god," he breathed - alcohol and peppermint gum and just the faintest tinge of vomit, babbling like he was worried he might have missed his window of opportunity. "Yeah, yeah! Oh fuck, yeah, please, Oliver, _Oliver_..."

Now that I had asked him, and he had agreed, I was suddenly nervous. He was drunk still, and clumsy, and I did not want him to hurt me. I begged his forgiveness as I extricated myself from him - soothing his protests - and excused myself to the bathroom to clear the plumbing, as it were. I took the lubricant as well, and spent several minutes carefully preparing myself, in case he did not know how.

I half expected him to be asleep when I came back, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed and drinking long pulls of water from the bottle on our nightstand. The moonlight was filtering in through the window, picking out the curves and angles of his body, and the sight took my breath away a little. He wiped his mouth and turned his head, and I could see that he was a little more clear-headed now.

"Are you sure?" he asked - tentatively, like he couldn't quite believe it.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life," was my overly verbose reply.

I was already naked, so I helped him out of his underwear, pressing soft kisses to his stomach and the inside curves of his hips. I looked up at him as I did this. His mouth was hanging open, his eyelids drooping, and he curved his fingers around my jaw and pulled me up to kiss him again. He slid his other hand down my back and began gently exploring the space between my buttocks while we kissed. When he found what he was searching for I fell away, my head lolling against his shoulder, my breaths becoming uneven.

"Oh," he said quietly, leaning forward, looking over my shoulder and down the curve of my back to where his fingers were just rubbing against me.

My heart was pounding. I was anxious and exhilarated. I wanted desperately to give myself over to him. I wanted to be taken care of. Shyly, right next to his ear, I murmured, "Oliver."

"Elio," he returned instantly, like an instinct, then pulled me onto the bed and laid himself down between my thighs, which I obediently spread for him, pulling my knees up to grant him access. He placed one hand by my head, propping up his torso, and reached down with the other to guide himself. He stared into my face as he pushed in - slack-jawed and enraptured.

It hurt. I had hoped it would not, but it did. I grimaced and he immediately stopped, moved to back away, but I shook my head and said, "Just slowly, slowly..."

His expression was complicated - a mixture of uncertainty and concern that was disrupted by a wave of pleasure as he pushed his way inside. "Oh," he gasped, his eyes widening. "Oh, that's... Oliver!"

"It's good, huh?" I managed, smiling to let him know I was OK, dropping a hand down to rest on the small of his back.

He tried a careful, calculated thrust, watching my face the whole time, even when his eyes rolled a little and his eyelashes fluttered at the sensations. He swore under his breath, then began to cheat out a back-and-forth with just the tip of him a little way inside me, enjoying the pressure of that initial push in. It was good, so good, but not enough, and I hooked my ankles around the backs of his thighs to pull him in deeper.

We made love like that for long minutes - Elio eventually curving his body down to press against mine, kissing me on the mouth and then nudging my chin upwards with his nose so that he could kiss the sensitive spots on my neck. His movements were stilted and random and inexpert, but he was _inside_ me, and that was more than enough. I spat into my palm, reached down between us and began touching myself lazily, tilting my hips upwards, trying to guide him towards the places that felt the best.

When I started to come, Elio looked down in fascination, fisting his hand in my hair and groaning as he stilled, letting me take what I needed as my toes curled and I whimpered and spilled semen onto my stomach in slow bursts - relishing the feeling of coming not just _on_ but _around_. As it wound down, Elio lost control and started thrusting wildly and desperately, dropping forward again to sob against my shoulder, hitching my knee up higher. Desperation turned into frustration, and I started to grow sore, so when it was apparent that what he was chasing was eluding him I gripped his hips firmly, stilling him.

"Shhh, it's OK..."

"Fuck," Elio gritted out. "I'm sorry, I... sometimes it happens when I've been drinking... I get too worked up and I can't..."

"It's OK, it's OK..."

"Should I pull out?"

I wanted to say yes - my needs had been met, after all, and much more of this would leave me unable to sit down tomorrow. But even with my sexual desire fully satiated, I still had an emotional need for him to come inside me. So I tilted my head up and kissed him, and used my grip on his body to guide his movements - forcing him to go slow, to let it build.

It took a while, but it was worth it when it happened. He was so soaked in sweat that it was dripping from the strands of his hair, pooling in the dip of my navel and slicking my stomach even further. When he released inside me, it was with a ragged cry so vulnerable that I was concerned for him, concerned that somehow I had hurt him. He was so exhausted that he could not even hold himself up throughout, and collapsed onto my chest even as he was still twitching.

"Oh god, finally," he managed at last, and then started laughing, the sound reverberating through my chest. I wrapped my arms around him, grinning, and kissed his ear.

We had both sobered up enough that we could not fall asleep on soaked sheets, so we fetched towels from the bathroom and laid them out over the damp patches. I dreaded to think what the hotel staff would comment amongst themselves the next day.

-

Elio fell fast asleep as soon as he was on a dry bed, but I lay awake, gently probing between my legs, feeling the hot soreness and moisture. After a while I carefully got out of bed and went to stand by the open window, leaning on the balcony, careless of my nudity.

On the bedside table, Elio's watch informed me that it was just past 2am. My train would leave the station at 11:20am. This was nearly over.

While Elio slept, my heart broke.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you're looking for something a little less porn-y and a little more feels-y, I have a couple more CMBYN fics:
> 
> [Crossroads](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13340778) (a different take on that phone call at the end of the movie)  
> [Americano](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13354341/chapters/30577701) (future fic)


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